The Weight of Maybe
by greenschist
Summary: How do you move beyond friendship into something more? Is it even worth it when it could cost you your best friend? Scorpius is willing to find out. As for Albus? He's not so sure. Albus/Scorpius


"Maybe this was a stupid idea," Scorpius muttered to an empty classroom.

The first chance for he and Albus to be alone since admitting their feelings ought to be more...special. He had the vague belief, culled from covers of _Witch Weekly_ his mother would leave lying around, that there should at least be flowers in the room or maybe strawberries and champagne. Thinking briefly of his parents' example, Scorpius wished for a candlelit supper, where he and Albus could share long looks and meaningful smiles before reaching out and touching, fingertip to fingertip. Perched on a desk, he wiped his suddenly damp palms on his thighs and examined his surroundings with critical eyes.

A neglected classroom covered with 20 years of dust and stuffed with chairs and desks that were probably broken before the First War did not qualify as special.

He drummed his feet against the legs of the desk in frustration. "This place is a pit," he said aloud.

"Oh, it's not that bad," Albus said quietly from behind him.

Scorpius jumped off the desk and spun around in time to see Albus slowly pulling the invisibility cloak he shared with his brother and sister over his head.

"It's private, anyway," Albus continued. "I didn't even know this room existed."

"Yeah," Scorpius nodded in agreement.

Albus smiled tightly and concentrated on draping the cloak over the back of a chair. His eyes, almost black in the dim light, skittered briefly over Scorpius before darting away. "I'm not late, am I? It took me forever to find my way." His voice was pleasant, almost formal. "Have you been waiting long?"

"No, you're not late." And Scorpius had been waiting since just after dinner, but that had been his choice. He had been too eager, knowing he would be meeting Al—no, meeting his _boyfriend_. Even thinking the word made Scorpius shivery with excitement and longing. Waiting calmly in the common room for hours had been unthinkable.

"Good." Albus produced another sickly smile and fleeting glance before moving, not toward Scorpius as the blond boy had hoped, but away. His back to Scorpius, he stood under a shaft of moonlight from the window and stared up at a cobweb-shrouded portrait.

This wasn't how Scorpius had imagined it would be. After all, wasn't Albus the first to admit his feelings went beyond friendship? Hadn't Albus been the one who had grabbed him, on the train home for Christmas, and given Scorpius a first kiss that curled his toes and left him breathless? It was even Al who suggested they find a place to meet after curfew. Why should he be acting now like he didn't want to be here? Maybe, Scorpius swallowed hard past a ball of anxiety, because he didn't. Maybe Albus had changed his mind. Maybe he thought this was a mistake after all.

Feeling bereft already, Scorpius stuffed his hands in his pockets and shuffled forward to stand under the portrait with Albus. Pomeroy the Peculiar, wizard and pig farmer, who had battled unsuccessfully against a werewolf pack until he learned to build his pigpens from stone bricks, beamed down at the silent pair, cheerfully waving handfuls of sticks and straw.

"Um..."

"What?" Scorpius asked quickly.

Albus met his anxious gaze for just moment—and Scorpius saw his eyes were huge and a little wild—before looking down at his feet. "Nothing." He swallowed audibly. "What a nutter." When he pointed at the portrait, Scorpius was surprised to see his hand was shaking.

"Totally," Scorpius agreed, shifting closer. "You shouldn't need trial and error to figure out straw won't keep out a werewolf."

Pomeroy the Peculiar made a rude gesture and stomped out of his portrait. Both boys burst out laughing and Scorpius felt the tension between them ease just a little.

He hesitated for a moment. "Al, are you scared?"

"No," he said emphatically, but Scorpius could see he was trembling faintly and still not looking at him. "It's not that I'm scared, it's just-" he broke off, and Scorpius stepped close enough that their clothes brushed. "Things are delicate now," Albus whispered. "This," he waved his hand in a back and forth motion between them, "feels delicate."

"I don't know what that means." Scorpius's voice was harsher than he intended, but it felt like his heart had climbed into his throat. "Does that mean you don't want this? This 'you and me'?"

"Of course not. I do."

"What then?" he said, feeling lost. "What's wrong?"

Albus twisted his hands together. "Look, a month ago, I was in love with my best friend, but we were _just friend_ s and now-" green eyes met gray and words suddenly poured out of him in a torrent. "Now we're here, and I love you and maybe you love me, and we're really doing this, and it's for real, and maybe I'll be absolute crap at it, maybe this isn't what you really want, and maybe I won't make you happy, and-" he took a shuddering breath.

"Albus," Scorpius whispered.

"Maybe I've ruined everything!" Albus's mouth wobbled a bit.

Scorpius wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tight. "Al, I just want to be with you," he whispered against Albus's ear. He pulled back, taking Albus's hands in his. "This is all I need." He lifted their joined hands between them so they stood palm to palm. "You and me, really doing this. We could never be crap at anything we do together."

Albus laughed shakily and squeezed his fingers.

"You've been making all the moves here, Al. It's okay with me if we slow down a bit." Scorpius smiled. "Slow can be good."

Albus pulled him close and rested his head on Scorpius's shoulder. "Yeah, slow is good."

* * *

Originally written for the AS/S Fest's 2008 Winter Shorts Exchange and posted there. My prompt: "It's not that we're scared/It's just that it's delicate." –Damien Rice, _Delicate_


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